A Letter From Rachel
by Bidwench
Summary: Stephanie finds a letter from Rachel.  Cupcake Fic.  WARNING:  This is NOT Ranger Friendly, and Babes won't like it.  Read at your own risk.  If you love the MIB, you won't like Letter From Rachel.  Fair warning.


I own nothing. Everything belongs to Janet. This is a Cupcake story, and it's not particularly kind to Ranger or Babe-friendly. Read at your own risk, but if you adore the MIB, you won't like this one-shot.

The Miami postmark practically glowed in the dark, I swear. I could just see the corner of the envelope sticking out from under the edge of the floormat. And if I scooted my feet over, maybe I could dislodge that floormat enough to see who the letter was from.

Okay, not such a hot idea. Ranger may have been understanding when my ancient Plymouth took a major dump in the middle of the Interstate and let me borrow his beloved Cayenne. But I had a sinking feeling he wouldn't be really happy with me if I wrapped the front end around a stoplight while I was trying to pilfer his personal mail.

I pulled into my parking lot and shut down the feral growl of the motor with a decisive twist of my wrist. I was cold, wet, and covered in mud and leaves from my latest skirmish with a recalcitrant skip, and I wanted nothing so much as a hot bubble bath and an early night.

Except maybe some juicy reading material while I soaked in that bubble bath. I leaned over to fish my purse out from under the driver's seat, and "accidentally" dislodged the stubborn floor mat.

Ooooh. Jackpot. Flowing feminine hand. Very definitely not from the adolescent Julie then. Her mother, maybe? Someone else?

Now, my mother had taught me all about respecting privacy. And if she hadn't been bad enough, my Dad worked at the post office for something like ninety years, and the idea of tampering with the mail was enough to send him into apoplexy even now that he was retired. I'd always been very careful never to let my father know about my occasional forays into Federal felonies when I intercepted other people's mail. Like most good Burg daughters I figured what my father didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

And that "someone else" just kept running around the inside of my head, tantalizing me like the smell of Pino's subs tantalized Bob when he hadn't eaten. Okay, to be honest, Bob was an eating machine. I didn't think there had ever been two consecutive hours since he'd some to live with me, and later Morelli, that didn't involve Bob eating something. Pino's subs were at the top of his list, but a chair or a sneaker would do in a pinch.

I wasn't getting any warmer just sitting here looking at it, so I quickly stuffed the envelope into my purse and ran for the rectangle of light at the door to my apartment building.

I swear I could feel the letter burning through the leather of my purse as my cold fingers fumbled with my keys. Finally inside, I marched straight to the bathroom and turned the bathtub taps on full. I stripped my clothes and debated washing them before I decided they were beyond salvaging and dumped everything but my shoes into the trash can. Probably my Doc Martens could withstand a full scale nuclear attack. A little cleanup in the morning and they, at least, would be as good as new. The steam started to rise invitingly, and the bubbles were billowing and beckoning to me. Morelli was working, Ranger was off someplace doing God knows what, so tonight it was just me and my bathtub, with no interruptions.

No interruptions, and a positively sinful letter that was just begging to be read. I didn't even bother with any of my usual lame attempts at self-justification. I knew good and well that what I was about to do was a grievous breach of privacy. Unforgivable even. Still, Ranger fascinated me. His aura of mystery was just irresistable to me. I had a perfectly good boyfriend that I would probably marry someday if I ever got my screaming meemy jitters under control long enough. I loved Joe, no question. But the what-ifs about Ranger played havoc with my logic. I was still more than half-convinced he was Batman sometimes. Silly maybe, but there you have it. I could no more resist reading that piece of mail than what's-her-name could have resisted a guided tour of the Batcave.

I made myself comfortable in my bubbles, checked my conscience at the door, and began to read, being very careful not to get the letter wet. Batman or no, I didn't want to leave any tell-tale watermarks.

The letter was dated the previous week.

Dear Ranger, it began...

Julie tells me that you've been calling her when Ron and I are out of the house. Telling her all about your version of reality--how young I was, how things just didn't work out. Trying to gain her sympathy.

This is not what you agreed to when you gave her up so that Ron could adopt Julie and she could have a father. Up until now, I've done my best to make sure that Julie never knew how ugly things got during our marriage. I thought it was in her best interest to have a positive view of you because kids tend to internalize things, and blame themselves for their parent's shortcomings.

But I will protect my daughter. I'm no longer the young girl you could push around, and I expect you to be enough of a man to stand by your promises. And make no mistake, Ranger, I will do whatever it takes to continue to protect Julie from you. If that means telling Julie the truth, I'll do it.

I'll tell her about that night on the beach. And I'll tell her that no means no, and that she doesn't have to be any man's victim like I was. That no man has the right to do to a woman what you did to me. And I'll tell her about the beatings, and I'll tell her about the bruises. I'll tell her about the fracture in her skull because you shook her so hard to make her stop crying that you sent her to the emergency room. I'll tell her about running into the night barefoot with my baby in my arms and living in a battered women's shelter. I'll tell her about the other women, and I'll tell her about her grandfather buying you off with blood money so you could start your company of thugs.

I don't want to do this, Ranger, but I will if you push me. There is nothing I wouldn't do for my daughter. Nothing. It's better for her to keep believing what we've always told her, and continue to supervise any contact you have with her. If you're not willing to let that ride, I won't have any choice but to tell her the truth about our marriage and her early months.

I'll remind you that the note my father holds against Rangeman is due and payable upon demand, with interest. You stay away from Julie, and you can continue to enjoy the lifestyle you've become accustomed to. You keep going behind my back, and I swear to you my family will bury you. We will own you. And I don't think you're the kind of man who would enjoy prison, and I will make it my personal interest to destroy you.

Leave my daughter alone. For her sake, and for yours.

Rachel

I felt sick. Sick that I had read something that wasn't intended for me, and sick at the ugliness that was spelled out in front of me in flowing script on expensive stationery. A knock sounded behind me on the bathroom door, and I shrieked as I jumped about three feet straight up. "Who is it?" I managed to croak, and quickly stuffed the incriminating envelope between a couple of fluffy towels.

Morelli's famliar head appeared around the crack in the door. "Just me, Cupcake. I didn't mean to startle you."

I shook my head, still trying to process what I'd just read and Joe's sudden appearance. "It's okay," I said. "I guess I was just lost in my own thoughts."

"You want a penny for them?"

My eyes raked over him as he stepped the rest of the way into the bathroom. His eyes looked tired, worn out, like he had seen too much. Remembering Rachel's letter and it's awful revelations, I sympathized. Still, the rest of him looked absolutely wonderful; lean muscled and dark, the planes of his face in stark relief in the subdued light of the bathroom, so comforting in all his familiarity. I pulled the stopper on the tub, and stood up, the bubbles sluicing off my skin. I turned to face Morelli then, and caught the raw passion wash over his face as his gaze traveled from the top of my head to that spot where my calves were submerged in the bubbles. "No pennies. But maybe you have something you could barter?" I asked archly as I stepped out of the tub and moved purposefully toward him.

"What did you have in mind?" he rasped.

"What did you think I have in mind?" The low chuckle, the feel of his strong arms wrapped around me, the smell of outside and dark embedded in his skin, I wanted it all. I loved the way he stood by my family, the way he cuddled Valerie's babies, the way he would seek me out after a day that had already been too long and too dark. I wanted his strength, I finally realized, his loyalty, and yes, the absolute knowledge that I would never, ever find a letter like Rachel's under Joe's floormat.


End file.
